Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. “I ought to have done anything! “What’s a man for? “Friendship!” He doubled up his fist, and seemed to contemplate thrusting it through the window. ‘You obstinate little devil. "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. ” He receded from her. And they pay her. " So saying, he left the room. " The Wastrel rushed.
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